


magpie

by serendipitee, susurruses (subsequence)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Collars, Humiliation, Jewelry, Kink Discovery, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/subsequence/pseuds/susurruses
Summary: Bambam doesn'tmeanto be difficult.Well, maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe it's fun when he can see his hyungs' patient exteriors start to crack after careful, loving,artfulprodding. Maybe it's fun to get that little thrill of power in his own way.And maybe Jaebeom always is, always has been, the most fun to get a rise out of.





	magpie

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [GOT7KinkMeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/GOT7KinkMeme) collection. 

> to the recipient: we kind of took the prompt and ran with it, but we hope you like what we did!! we had so much fun writing it ^^
> 
> thank you [tremmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremmy_chii/pseuds/tremmy_chii) for looking this over for us!! and thank you also to dottie the kitten for her excellent keyboarding skills throughout.

Bambam doesn't _mean_ to be difficult.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true. Maybe it's fun when he can see his hyungs' patient exteriors start to crack after careful, loving, _artful_ prodding. Maybe it's fun to get that little thrill of power in his own way.

And maybe Jaebeom always is, always has been, the most fun to get a rise out of.

So, maybe it's less that he didn't mean to be difficult and more that he didn't realize just what kind of doors it would open in this specific instance.

In his defense, how else is he supposed to respond to his hyung—his grungy, cool, Kurt-Cobain-but-make-it-designer hyung—stealing his jewelry like some kind of socially awkward magpie _other_ than teasing him?

The whole scene is ridiculous. Jaebeom, hovering over Bambam’s neatly laid out watches and bracelets on the dressing table, fingers suspended in midair over one of Bambam’s favorite pieces: a trinket from YSL as a thank you from their last store opening he attended. It’s worth $40,000.

There have been moments before now when Bambam’s appreciative eyes have landed on Jaebeom, his thin wrists and thick hands, and noticed that he was wearing a thin bangle, a ring or a chain that Bambam picked out, bought, and owned for himself. It never bothers him, somehow, never gets under his skin to see the lovely little baubles on his hyung even though he never asks permission.

But this is the first time Jaebeom’s ever been caught _taking._

“Yah, Lim Jaebeom. What are you doing?” Bambam balances on that familiar tightrope between familiarity and disrespect.

And there it is, still so satisfying after all these years—the tensing of broad shoulders, the widening of affronted eyes, the jaw clenching right on cue.

Bambam squares back. “Don’t look at me like that, hyung! Who’s the thief here?”

Bambam knows his hyung, knows how this is supposed to go—he's about to get cornered, maybe, grabbed by the neck while Jaebeom tries to be menacing and fails because he can't _not_ smile, even when Bambam is pushing his buttons like they're keys on a piano and he's been playing his whole life—

But Jaebeom's mouth snaps shut and his eyes fall back to the table, uncharacteristically avoidant. "I was just looking," he mumbles.

Bambam snorts. "You've been doing a lot more than just looking for a while now, though, haven't you?"

Color blooms under Jaebeom's cheeks, and _that_ is unexpected. He wraps his right hand around his other wrist, face tight and uncomfortable. "N-no."

Except, there's something under the fabric of his long sleeve tee shirt. Around his wrist and poorly hidden under his hand.

Bambam steps closer.

He should probably feel off-kilter, with how far they've strayed from their usual script, but if anything, he feels more centered. It's as if the sight of Jaebeom acting like this draws out Bambam's usual instinct to push and makes it evolve—gives it a complementary edge to press into the soft give of Jaebeom's shyness.

"Show me." Jaebeom's eyes flash, looking up at Bambam just long enough to glare. "Hyung," he corrects himself.

"It's..." Jaebeom starts, mumbling, probably frustrated with the way he's been caught in the act. He wraps hesitating fingers around his sleeve, agonizing for a moment before yanking it up his forearm.

And sure enough. "The Cartier?"

Jaebeom has always looked good in jewelry. Even as his style has veered from what it used to be, his love of accessories has remained constant. It's a familiar sight, heavy silver against the delicate bone of his wrist. It's way too ostentatious for a guy like Jaebeom, but Bambam can't deny how nice it looks—white gold, embellished with enough diamonds to blind a man.

And yet, there's something new, some kind of warmth buzzing in the back of Bambam's mind, knowing that this particular watch has his own name embossed on the metal pressed into his hyung's skin.

"Why this one, hyung?" Bambam reaches out and lifts Jaebeom's wrist until the incriminating evidence stands obviously between them. "It's not your usual style."

He can hear the dry click of Jaebeom's throat as he swallows. The metal of the watch is warm from his skin. "It just—caught my eye. I guess."

"You guess?"

Jaebeom shrugs, trying for something cool and disaffected. The effect is something more in the realm of a chastised child with the way he's not really meeting Bambam's eyes.

The instinct to push rears again. Bambam squeezes Jaebeom's wrist in his hand. "Look at me when I’m speaking to you."

"What?" Shock is obvious in Jaebeom's voice, but he doesn't sound indignant. He sounds almost breathless, voice gone all high the way it does when he's been truly taken off guard.

It's like music to Bambam's ears. He swears he can almost taste the sweetness of it melting on his tongue.

"I said," Bambam says evenly, pushing his excitement over seeing this new side of his leader and hyung and friend down deep, "look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Jaebeom blinks, gulps.

"Hyung," Bambam adds softly. A complete afterthought.

Bambam watches Jaebeom run his finger under the bezel and over the winding knob. He finally meets Bambam's eyes.

He's not angry. He looks cowed more than anything, eyes big and beseeching, looking the way he only ever looks when he truly feels guilty about something.

So, maybe Bambam knows he's a bit difficult. But he's not _mean._

He isn't. He...hasn't been. He doesn't want to be, not really, but he _does_ want—more. More of Jaebeom like this.

His heart thumps, adrenaline coursing through him, buzzing around his head reckless and biting like flies. "Are you listening? Use your words."

Jaebeom's eyes widen and Bambam thinks for a moment that he's pushed too far, that this strange delicate atmosphere between them is about to shatter.

But instead, Jaebeom blinks rapidly, eyes fixed on Bambam with obvious effort as he whispers, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" The words leave Bambam's lips almost without permission.

"For not...looking at you. When you were speaking to me."

As fun as it would be to keep watching Jaebeom squirm and cringe under his demands, Bambam decides to be gracious. "I accept your apology."

He squeezes Jaebeom's wrist tight between his long fingers one last time before releasing him.

Jaebeom's eyes fall and he lets out an exhale that only just manages not to be shaky. He pulls his hand back against himself as if unsure what to do with it now that Bambam's grip isn't guiding him.

Bambam swallows as the mood falls away, only aware as it leaves just how heavy the air between them had felt. It had just been a conversation about Jaebeom stealing his watch, his rings and bracelets and shiny things, just been another opportunity to get under his hyung's skin—so why does it feel like the whole exchange has gotten under Bambam's too?

"Here, let me—" Jaebeom fumbles with the clasp of the watch.

"No." Bambam's voice is soft, but Jaebeom's movements halt immediately. Maybe the heaviness isn't completely gone yet, after all. "Wear it for me." He waits for Jaebeom's eyes to snap back up to meet his before smiling. "I like how it looks on you."

"Um. Okay." Now Bambam is really starting to enjoy the way Jaebeom's fair cheeks flush with the uncompromising attention. "Tha—" The first syllable is a stutter of formality before he swallows and tries again. “Thank you.”

"You're welcome, hyung."

* * *

Bambam doesn't even bother entertaining the idea that that's the end of it. Not when the memory feels lodged in the back of his mind, whispering to him every time Jaebeom zones out and his face goes adorably spacey. Not when he can't stop absentmindedly wondering every morning as he accessorizes which piece might look best on Jaebeom. And especially not when Jaebeom keeps wearing his watch.

He's wearing it right now. In the weeks after Bambam had entrusted it to him he's worn it for shows, for pre-recordings and meetings, wearing it with clean cut expensive suits and spectacular button ups, sleeves rolled to his elbows and also under hoodies that swallow him—and the watch—entirely.

But it's still there.

Today is a recording day. He's wearing the same sort of comforting cozy overlarge styling he wears every time they spend days doing this, scribbling messily in a composition book with his sleeves pushed up his forearms.

The diamonds on the watch glint in the low light.

It's so markedly distinct from everything else he's wearing, a gleaming beacon of—of _something._ Because it's not nothing, whatever it is that's happening between them now.

Bambam's part has been dealt with for a while now, leaving him free to chill on the couch and chat with whoever's waiting their turn to record. He doesn't really need to be here anymore—Jaebeom has been his usual self during the recording, clear in his vision but unfailingly encouraging, and Bambam had known he'd done well when Jaebeom had beamed at him. It feels almost normal. Except for the cool shine of diamonds at the edge of it all.

So, Bambam stays.

He rolls his ankle around in his boot, jangling the zipper while he and Yugyeom shoot the shit and wait for Youngjae to finish his piece of the recording.

It's noisy but not loud enough for their producer hyung to look away from the board—just enough for Jaebeom to instinctively turn toward the sound. Like a cat with a bell.

Bambam notices. He shakes his foot again and the dangle chimes louder.

He sees the way Jaebeom freezes, torn between ignoring Bambam like a tired hyung or turning toward his call like something wholly different. He smiles. He knows Jaebeom can't see it from his seat, but he knows he'll be able to hear it in his voice when he calls out, "You're working hard, Jaebeom-ah."

It's the voice he uses with his cats—a little cute, a little soft. He knows Jaebeom knows that, too.

Bambam ignores Yugyeom's eyes drilling questioningly into the side of his face, too busy watching the way the line of Jaebeom's shoulders shift. He twitched. Bambam saw it.

It makes that same hot, heavy feeling burn down between Bambam's ribs, settle in his stomach. He licks his lips.

Yugyeom shifts in discomfort next to him when he clears his throat, sensing the discord Bambam wants to cause.

Jaebeom tenses too at the sound.

"Jaebeom-ah, are you listening?"

"I'm _working,_" Jaebeom says tersely, but he's still frozen with his face half turned toward Bambam.

Bambam raises his eyebrow. Even if Jaebeom can't see it, the action feels like slipping into a role, like finding footing on new ground. "After I've been so generous, that's how you're going to talk to me?"

There's too many other ambient noises from the other people in the room—Youngjae's crooning and Yugyeom shuffling around next to him—but Bambam feels like he can hear the quiet sound of Jaebeom's sharp inhale like he's gasping right in front of him.

He hears Yugyeom's muffled snort and registers that, usually, he'd be turning to break down into giggles with him while Jaebeom started roundly telling them off.

But he doesn't. And Jaebeom doesn't.

Instead, Bambam watches as Jaebeom's Adam's apple bobs, as his tongue runs over his lips before he mumbles, "I'm sorry." It's the same tone he'd used before, when Bambam had caught him the first time, and it's as if his body is primed for it now. The sound of it makes a thrill zip through Bambam and he feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in satisfaction.

"That's alright, hyung." He means to chirp it, a little daring tease, but his voice comes out of his throat a shade rougher. He has to talk around the bubble of excitement in his chest. "Just take the compliment next time."

Jaebeom doesn't say anything back, sucking his bottom lip in his teeth. He just dips his head in a little nod.

Obedient.

Jaebeom turns back to work and Bambam leans back, a kind of warm satisfaction settling over him.

"I'm...gonna go," Yugyeom says slowly. "Get a shake, I think. You know, something normal."

Bambam finally tears his eyes away from Jaebeom to look over at his best friend.

Yugyeom is, obviously, already staring at him like he has three heads, but the look is doing absolutely nothing to dampen Bambam's mood. The look morphs in a millisecond when they lock eyes: _we're talking about this later._

_Duh,_ Bambam stares back. "Get me one too. Extra whip."

"No."

Bambam throws himself dramatically down on the couch cushions. "Then what is the _point_ of you?"

"What's the point of _you_ doing—you know what, never mind."

"Go." Bambam waves his hand with a flourish. "Go be with your shake. I'll just be here. Languishing. Alone."

"You won't be alone." Yugyeom winces. "Don't light the studio on fire or...anything weird before I get back, all right?"

"No promises about anything weird," Bambam says brightly. "And on second thought, no promises about the fire either."

Youngjae comes out of the booth having nailed his verses in his first few tries, ruffled and victorious. "That was a quick one! Thank god. What did I miss?"

Bambam looks between Yugyeom, half out the door, and Jaebeom, hunched over the soundboard, and stays silent. He still doesn’t know how to define it, whatever this nebulous thing is—but he thinks he might be circling closer, starting to get a feel for the shape of it.

Clearly, he figures, the only thing to do is to investigate further.

* * *

The universe obviously wants Bambam to embarrass Jaebeom. That’s why it keeps dropping chances in his lap like this.

It’s not like he planned for the interviewer to follow up the whitebread question—_Who’s the most fashionable of the members?_—by pointing out Jaebeom’s taste in jewelry. And it’s not his fault that Jaebeom can’t seem to stop wearing his watch, either.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t take advantage of a golden opportunity when he sees it.

“That actually isn’t hyung’s watch.” Bambam is sitting on a slightly taller stool behind Jaebeom, so he leans down and forward until he’s pushing into his space—just to gesture to the accessory in question, obviously. The bony protrusion of his knee nudges into Jaebeom’s back a little. “He stole it from me.”

“When Bam-ah says steal,” Jaebeom tacks on hastily, “he means—we all share between us, you know?”

“Not since we moved out of the dorm,” Jinyoung adds, clearly smelling blood. Bless his sadistic soul, at least whenever it isn’t directed at Bambam.

“Yeah, hyung,” Bambam says. “You’ve just got sticky fingers.”

The awkward, stilted half-laugh Jaebeom forces out is what changes the air around them completely. Jinyoung and Mark nudge each other, smirking, and turn in on Jaebeom to prod him about just that. “Sticky fingers, huh?” Jackson chimes from Bambam’s other side. Yugyeom whines about the suggestiveness of the tone.

Youngjae says, face covered in a sheen of innocence that Bambam doesn’t believe for a second, “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about hyung like that in public.”

“Yah!” Jaebeom turns in his chair, betrayal painted across his dumbfounded features. “What’s that supposed to—”

“I mean,” Youngjae continues, “it doesn’t look good for a leader to be stealing, hyung.”

“Yeah, hyung,” Jackson says seriously. “Why? What were you thinking of?”

Jaebeom continues gawping at them, mouth half-open and tiny, half-formed noises of complaint sticking in the back of his throat.

He’s cute like this, Bambam thinks. Like a kitten, still wide-eyed and pliable in a way that only amplifies Bambam’s urge to tease, to play. “Though you weren’t very good at it. You let me catch you in the act.”

Something about the phrasing of it makes Jaebeom’s ears instantly go hot pink, a target for Bambam to zero in on when the whole rest of the room bursts into noise. Jaebeom turns toward Bambam at the angle with which he would usually be giving him a withering glare—sharp and intense like an anime protagonist—but this time when he tries it, Bambam levels him with a stare and a propped-up, questioning, perfectly manicured eyebrow. “What? Am I wrong?”

“It’s—” Jaebeom flounders. “That’s not—”

Bambam’s voice dips just a bit, not in pitch but in volume—quiet and soft, like the whisper of skin on silk. “Am I being too mean?” Jaebeom’s eyes go big and liquidy brown-black, open wide.

“We take turns,” Jackson cuts in, his brash voice cutting through the atmosphere like a note gone sharp. “You know, being the one that gets teased. Today is Jaebeom hyung’s turn!”

Bambam blinks and then glances at the others only to find them looking back at him with varying levels of curiosity or wariness. “Right.” He forces a laugh, something airy and light. “Today is our leader’s lucky day. Isn’t that right, Jaebeom-ah?”

That draws the expected howls and answering calls of _Jaebeom-ah, Jaebeom-ah_ from the other members. It’s enough for Jaebeom’s attention to shift to the group as a whole again, the room descending into bickering and shouted laughter—familiar territory again.

But Bambam takes note of it all, files it away in the growing corner of his brain dedicated to This Thing With Jaebeom. The bits and pieces of the puzzle coming together are slowly, undeniably forming a picture that Bambam doesn’t want to look away from.

* * *

Bambam might have to take full responsibility for this one. After all, there have been plenty of shows where Jaebeom looked this good and—well, Bambam may have _teased,_ but...not like this.

“Are the stylist noonas letting you accessorize on your own now?” Bambam grins when Jaebeom jumps slightly at the sound of his voice, pausing in his last-minute fixes in front of a mirror. “Or were you just stubborn about this piece?”

“They’re not _letting_ me do anything,” Jaebeom grumbles. A pink flush is creeping up from beneath his collar. “It’s just a watch.”

“Is it?” Bambam hooks his chin over Jaebeom’s shoulder and looks at their reflections. It took a damn long time to have a proper sexy comeback, but it’s beyond worth it now—Jaebeom’s eyes look sharp enough to cut with the makeup they’ve applied, and his fine skin peeks out from a shirt that’s barely buttoned. The shape of his body is on display, strong, pretty lines encased in tight black leather. Bambam presses even closer, feels the warmth of Jaebeom’s body through the material, lets his plush lips brush the shell of his ear as he whispers, “Then why are you acting like this, hm?”

Jaebeom stiffens. He’s keeping his face resolutely forward, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance with no definition other than _not Bambam._ “Acting like what?”

Bambam snorts. “Well, like a brat, right now. Maybe you’ve gotten too uppity since I’ve given you such nice toys.”

At this proximity, he can hear the thick, wet sound of Jaebeom swallowing.

Power rushes through him, roaring in his ears. He slides his hand up from its neutral resting place on Jaebeom’s hip, heavy pressure against his stomach and sternum to tickle playfully at the last done button in the silk. His thumb slides under, grabbing, possessive, and Bambam can feel Jaebeom’s pulse thundering under his fingers.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” he murmurs. Jaebeom’s chest hitches with a stuttered breath. “I let you have pretty things and you act like this. Am I gonna have to punish you? Or maybe….” He flicks at the button with his thumb and it easily slides out of place. “Maybe that’s what you want from me.”

“What?” Jaebeom’s voice is barely a whisper, the sound thick in his throat.

“You get so flustered.” Bambam spreads the lapels of his shirt slightly, just enough to show off the pink flush dusting Jaebeom’s pale skin. “When I put you on the spot. When I talk down to you. I think you like it when I’m mean to you.”

“Bam…” Jaebeom starts, voice weak.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” He searches the reflection of Jaebeom’s face: through the stage makeup, through the blush and the way his eyes are darting back and forth from Bambam’s unmoving gaze to his feet to the hands on him, scared, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in time like a metronome, like a countdown to something Bambam thinks he knows. He knows. “Say it.”

Unlike the first time, fear that he’s gone too far isn’t weighing as heavily on his mind. He can see it, in the way Jaebeom’s mouth works, the subtle shifting of his weight, the restless fidgeting of his fingers. He can see the excitement coursing through Jaebeom that matches his own.

Finally, Jaebeom manages the words, low and sticky. “I...like it.”

“That’s not very convincing.” Bambam leans into him, his lips trailing down slightly along the very corner of Jaebeom’s jaw.

“Bam.” The single syllable is strained, weighted with a new kind of meaning that makes Bambam’s hand on Jaebeom’s middle tighten reflexively.

“Yes, Jaebeom?” Bambam knows he’s being cruel now—but isn’t that the point? “Is there something you want?”

“I—” Jaebeom sounds prettier than ever, all melodic and tremulous. “I want—”

And Bambam might know or at least have a fairly good idea of what Jaebeom wants, but he doesn’t get to hear the words from his lips.

Instead, he gets to hear the door bang open and Jackson say, “Oh—fucking come _on,_ guys, I can cover for you when you get weird in an interview, but not when you’re _pawing_ at each other in public—”

Bambam slips his hands away from Jaebeom and takes a step back, trying to ignore the buzz of satisfaction at how Jaebeom’s fingers fumble with his button and his tongue stumbles over excuses, the way his irritation comes out in a flash when in Bambam’s arms he had been as docile as a pet on a leash.

He waits for the rush of conversation to pass. Jackson equal parts teasing and exasperated, Jaebeom defensive and whining in turn—he can almost predict the beats of the exchange, like listening to an old favorite song. But his mind is still stuck on how far Jaebeom had let him go, how _easy_ it had all felt—

By the time Jackson leaves (with a warning not to jump on each other the second the door closes behind him), Bambam has made up his mind.

“Jaebeom.” He pauses before adding, “Hyung.” Just for now, until...later. Now that he’s decided there’s going to be a later. “Come over after we’re done here?”

Jaebeom hesitates, a held breath, a flutter of pretty, dark eyelashes.

Bambam watches him, hand on the doorknob. “I won’t ask again.”

He expects more protests, at least on principle, but all he gets is a small nod.

He returns it. “Good.” He lets a smile spread across his face and can feel the genuine anticipation shining through it. “I think we’re gonna have fun tonight, hyung.”

He can hear a noise that’s almost like a whimper as he closes the door behind him.

* * *

Jaebeom has always held his space as sacred, whether that’s his immediate elbow room being encroached upon by various limbs and bodies of the siblings this career path had finally gifted him or keeping his bedroom door firmly shut at even the mention of a camera. Beyond that, he’s a homebody—it isn’t too surprising that they haven’t been to each other’s new places yet despite the move not being recent.

So Bambam is a little more nervous than he’d like to admit as he thumbs in the passcode to his apartment door and opens it up to Jaebeom. “Welcome, I guess,” he says. “You should feel right at home anyway, considering—”

Before he can finish the sentence, he hears a plaintive meow from the kitchen and Cupcake peeks around the corner. She eyes Jaebeom warily, green eyes unblinking as she hangs back in the doorway and meows again at Bambam.

“I know, I know.” Bambam carefully unzips his boots and places them on the shoe rack before stepping into his house slippers and clomping over toward the kitchen. “Trust me, I know it’s mealtime. I have a watch, you know.” He turns to smirk over his shoulder. “Jaebeom does too.”

Jaebeom makes a strangled noise in his throat. “Don’t bring that up in front of the cats.”

“Why?” Bambam asks innocently. “It’s just a watch.”

“Bam.” Rather than the usual exasperated tone Jaebeom uses with him, he sounds strained, almost pleading. “You—don’t.”

Bambam lets it go for the time being. He has children to feed, after all, and he may as well kill two birds with one stone with the task.

“I’ll put out food for them so they’ll all be out here,” Bambam tells him. “So you go sit in the bedroom and wait for me, okay?”

For a moment, Jaebeom lingers. He doesn’t look so different from the kitten in the doorway, waiting for Bambam to do something.

But he doesn’t. He goes about taking down the food, peeling open cans and cooing when the rest of the cats follow the sounds and trip over each other in their rush into the kitchen. They gather around his ankles and stare up expectantly at him.

Four—five—sets of eyes on him. He doesn’t look up as he says, “Didn’t I tell you what to do?”

Jaebeom doesn’t say anything, but he makes a soft noise in his throat. Bambam pushes again. “Be a good boy and go sit and wait.”

At that, Jaebeom’s entire body stiffens before he turns on his heel swiftly and makes his way down the hall.

“Second door on the left,” Bambam calls after him.

There’s no response except the closing of a door, not quite hard enough to be a slam, but distinctly uncontrolled.

Bambam clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable.” Hyung will have something to explain later.

He takes his time with the cats. Part of it is that he’s missed them—the comeback has had him away from home more than he’d like, and it’s a special type of grounding to have them curling around his legs and leaving fur all over his black jeans.

Part of it, though, is that he wants to make Jaebeom squirm.

So he stretches out his time in the kitchen, cooing and doting and playing, washing the bowl on the counter that he hadn’t had time to clean after breakfast, imagining how Jaebeom must look right now sitting on his bed and stewing in his impatience. He pushes it until he almost can’t believe Jaebeom hasn’t come out to demand what’s going on.

Maybe his hyung can be good after all.

Finally, when he can’t come up with any more excuses to wait, Bambam saunters over to the bedroom. He imagines what this moment would feel like if Jaebeom could hear the click of heels against the stone floor and makes a note to look into a pair of in-house boots just for this...if it continues. They haven’t even started properly, but god, he hopes it continues.

He stops outside the door and knocks delicately. “Are you decent?”

The door is wrenched open from the other side to reveal a pouting Jaebeom. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bambam raises his eyebrows. “We’ve established that you have a habit of misbehaving.”

“No, that’s—” Jaebeom’s lips press together in an upset little line. “I don’t misbehave.”

“Don’t you?” Bambam pushes past him and into the bedroom. “Close the door, Jaebeom.”

For some reason, being in Bambam’s space makes Jaebeom edge closer and closer to insubordination. He keeps waiting too long, sticking closer to his comfort zone than he had when he was caught, or when the boys all poked fun at him, or when he had practically melted in Bambam’s arms.

He doesn’t close the door until Bambam stares at him expectantly. He leans on it with a flat hand until it snicks shut. “Thank you for finally listening, baby.”

In the quiet of the room, the breath leaving Jaebeom’s lungs is obvious. He stalks over to wear Bambam is standing, stopping just short of him, as if he isn’t sure what bridging that gap will do now.

Bambam raises an eyebrow at him, at the way his fingers curl reflexively, holding onto themselves. “Can I help you?”

Jaebeom huffs out a breath. “You’re the one who invited me here.”

“Because you couldn’t control yourself in public,” Bambam reminds him. “Unless...you want to show everyone how badly you’ve been behaving? You want everyone to know?”

Jaebeom gulps. “No, I don’t want—I haven’t been behaving _badly._”

“Haven’t you? Stealing things, lying about it, trying to pass it off as no big deal, needing to be told what to do multiple times.” He lists the items off on his fingers, very aware of how Jaebeom’s eyes track the sway of the silver bracelet hanging from his wrist. “Sounds like misbehaving to me.”

“_No._” Jaebeom takes half a step closer, the agitation stirred by Bambam’s accusations seeming to override his hesitation. “I’m—I didn’t mean to—”

Bambam tuts softly. “You didn’t _mean_ to. How can you not mean to steal, hm? And then do it multiple times?”

Jaebeom lets out a frustrated noise, almost a whine. “That’s not—we shared stuff all the time in the dorms, it’s—”

“Is that what this is?” Bambam chuckles. “Is that what you call that? Wearing my pretty things with my name on them?”

Jaebeom breathes hot and right in his face. Normally, Bambam would fear his temper, the fraying edges of his control, but right now—it’s not anger that’s making him act like this. His cheeks have the same red flush they get the times that he’s frustrated, the times when Bambam can see his seldom-angry heart beating his blood through the veins in his neck, but now he knows what the race of his pulse feels like under his hand. Now he can see how his eyes have gone wide, less challenging and more like he’s waiting, anticipating. And his voice—the sharpness is gone, replaced by a breathiness that sounds uncertain and almost eager when he says, “It’s nothing bad. I didn’t do anything bad.”

“Right,” Bambam scoffs. "You've been bad since you got here."

“No.” Jaebeom leans into the syllable at the same time as he leans into Bambam’s space. For all his physical size, he can’t sway Bambam with his presence right now. “I’m not—I’m not.”

“You’re not what, baby?” Bambam turns until his face is angled toward Jaebeom’s, tectonic plates about to collide.

“I’m not bad,” Jaebeom says like it’s paining him.

“Really?” Bambam can see everything standing this close—the shadow of Jaebeom’s lashes on his cheeks, the faint gleam of spit from where he’d licked his lips. “Do you think you’ve been good, baby?”

A shiver runs through Jaebeom and his eyes flutter shut for a moment before he nods mutely.

Bambam snakes his hand up between them, curls it around the nape of Jaebeom’s neck and squeezes more firmly than he’s done with anyone before. Jaebeom’s mouth falls open with a tiny, wet noise.

“Show me, then.” The words feel thick between them, hot and humid. “Show me how good you can be.”

Whatever sound Jaebeom makes—something like a whimper or an airy groan—is lost as he rushes forward, kissing Bambam with a clumsiness he wouldn’t have expected. They knock teeth, and it's messy and sloppy the way Jaebeom opens up underneath him but it's good. The slick heat of his tongue, the groans he keeps whimpering into Bambam's mouth—it's so good. Bambam's fingernails dig into his neck and he goes soft, head lolling into Bambam's palm like a kitten grabbed by the scruff.

Jaebeom’s pawing at his front, clinging to his shirt and pressing against him as if he can get closer than they already are. It makes Bambam stumble back a bit with the force of his fervor. His last step has his heel pressing against the wall, and he works with it—he leans fully back against it and tugs Jaebeom in more firmly until he’s caging Bambam in, palms pressed to the wall on either side of Bambam’s head for balance.

It should make Bambam feel smaller, being encroached upon like this, but all it does is make him aware of just how affected his hyung is, panting like a dog, making these desperate little noises in his chest when Bambam’s other hand balls tight in the back of his shirt and pulls him as close as he can, broad and warm against the line of his body.

Jaebeom keeps arching and wriggling, using the leverage of his hands to move and bow to wherever Bambam’s hands guide him, undulating and needy and, god, hard against the front of Bambam’s thigh just from kissing hot and heavy standing up in Bambam’s room. Hard just from being told what to do, and insisting he’s good, and from Bambam holding him like the good boy he so desperately wants to prove he is.

Jaebeom pulls back just enough to breathe. It’s far enough for Bambam to see his eyes, heavy and shining and the pink bruise of his mouth, wet and hanging open to greedily gasp in as much air as he can. His gaze keeps flitting all over Bambam’s face, from his mouth to his eyes, and Bambam wonders for the briefest second whether he looks nearly as wrecked as Jaebeom does.

He doesn’t feel wrecked like that. His own heart is squeezing tight and hard, blood honey-thick in his veins, hands steady. His own cock throbs in his jeans but it’s the furthest thing from his focus right now. He has been waiting for this. “Such a desperate baby.”

The noise Jaebeom makes at that sounds punched out of his chest. “God—please—”

Bambam lets the hand around Jaebeom’s nape come forward, tracing along the edge of Jaebeom’s jaw until he’s cupping his face. His thumb rests on his slick lower lip, and he rubs across it in a slow firm drag. “You know,” he says, almost conversationally, even as he purposefully grinds his hips forward into Jaebeom’s and pulls a gasp from him, “this doesn’t feel like something a good boy would do, does it?”

“No,” Jaebeom moans, but his hips jerk forward unevenly, mindlessly. “No, no, please—”

Bambam pushes his thumb forward, past Jaebeom’s teeth and across the soft wetness of his tongue. He isn’t even surprised when Jaebeom’s lips automatically close around it and he suckles at it, tongue frantic and warm.

Now that his mouth is otherwise occupied, he kisses along Jaebeom’s jaw, up until he reaches his ear. He nips at one of the piercings there and has to admit—he understands it, the thrill of cold, hard, pretty things on soft, delicate skin.

“You want to know what I think, baby?” Bambam can hardly hear his own voice, he’s whispering so softly, but he knows Jaebeom can. The way the rhythm of his hips picks up in pace, sloppy like they’re driven by some animal instinct, is a dead give away. “I think a good boy wouldn’t be humping my leg like a dumb little puppy.”

“_Oh._” Jaebeom’s mouth goes slack around Bambam’s thumb for a moment, the muffled gasp wet and thick. And then he redoubles his efforts, the messy suction around the digit matching the frenzied way he’s shoving his cock against Bambam’s hip.

Jaebeom’s desperation is like a siren call, all of Bambam’s focus crystallizing into something so intense it burns in his veins, in his mind, in his throat when he speaks. Every word feels like it’s propelled out of him, as magnetic and instinctive as Jaebeom’s desperate grinding. “But you’re not that good, are you? You’re bad, baby. Look at how slutty you are. You just like pretending you’re good in front of everybody else.”

Jaebeom chokes on nothing, mouth falling open again to let out a sweet, high sob, and his body goes stiff above Bambam’s. Without thinking, Bambam draws back, slips his thumb from Jaebeom’s mouth, and tightens his grip on his chin, holding him in place as he shudders and his cock pulses against Bambam’s hip through his pants. He drinks in the sight of him—eyes glassy and half-lidded as pleasure washes every thought from his mind, cheeks and lips flushed until they look obscene, tongue lolling like he couldn’t control his body if he tried.

Bambam doesn’t understand how he can look so indecent, so fucked out without having removed a single article of clothing. “There you go,” Bambam murmurs while Jaebeom’s rocking hips slow, watching the way he shudders and curls, fingernails scratching against the wall by Bambam’s ears. He loosens his grip on Jaebeom’s jaw, just holding it up until Jaebeom feels his head get too heavy and he drops it between his arms, hair brushing Bambam’s mouth and chin.

He stays there, face hidden as his breathing slows and calms. He doesn’t look up even as he pulls his hands away and steps back, eyes fixed on the floor and chin dipped toward his chest. The pink flush is still in his cheeks, but Bambam gets the feeling it’s for a different reason now.

Jaebeom clears his throat, almost forcefully gruff. “I need—I’m going to use your shower.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and fails at hiding a wince as the movement jostles the mess in his pants.

“Hyung,” Bambam says quietly. The word makes Jaebeom’s head jerk up, eyes wide in surprise. Bambam licks his lips, fighting the urge to drop his eyes like Jaebeom had, and adds, “Let me come help you?”

Jaebeom’s mouth opens and snaps shut, and then he nods slowly. “I—yes. That would be—yeah. Okay.”

Bambam gives him a tentative smile, feeling oddly shy in the aftermath, more than he ever feels around Jaebeom nowadays. These are uncharted waters, and Bambam doesn’t know if he can trust his own footing. Uncertainty isn’t a feeling Bambam knows how to deal with, the unfamiliarity of it leaving him antsy in a way that only feeds into his distrust in his own assessment of the situation. Everything could change. _Something_ has changed for sure, and from the epicenter, Bambam can’t tell how far the ripples will travel or how high the waves will climb or if everything is going to be swallowed up in it—

And then Jaebeom’s lips curl up at the corners, returning Bambam’s smile.

And, well—something has changed. But this is still Jaebeom. Still their leader, still his hyung, still his friend, and if there’s one thing that he’s shown in the years Bambam’s known him, it’s that they’ll always make it through. One way or another.

He’s excited to see which way it will be.

* * *

Now that Bambam knows what to expect, there’s a different kind of electricity in the air when he opens the door to his room. It isn’t the first time he’s seen Jaebeom with his hand frozen over Bambam’s belongings, but it is the first time he’s felt the rush of knowing anticipation.

“Lim Jaebeom,” he says without prelude. He knows it’s what Jaebeom wants now. “Didn’t you learn your lesson the last time?”

Jaebeom stands still, caught in the act. It would almost be believable, save for the fact that he’s wearing exactly what Bambam instructed him to before he closed him in the room. The plain black of his button down hangs open, showing the tight fit of his briefs around his slim hips.

But one thing in the pretty picture before him stands out. Trailing down Jaebeom’s chest, a luxurious string of diamonds ending in a stylized owl, similarly encrusted in diamonds in a way that looks even more indulgent on Jaebeom’s bare skin. It stares at him wide-eyed the same way Jaebeom does. “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Jaebeom’s hand flies to his chest, fingers finding the owl and trapping it. The piece is one of the most distinct that Bambam owns; Jaebeom must have known when he picked it that it would leave no room for doubt.

“If you can’t keep your hands off my things,” Bambam says as he walks over to his bed and takes a seat on the edge, “you may as well make yourself useful.”

“Useful?” Jaebeom is playing dumb. Bambam knows he’s playing because, well, he _isn’t,_ not really—but also because they planned at least this far. They wanted to play with the idea but Bambam should have expected his hyung to have a hard time keeping his hands off the other merchandise.

“Pick out your favorites,” Bambam instructs. “You must know which ones those are by now, right? Considering how you can’t stay away. Then bring them to me.”

Jaebeom bites his lips. He looks down, surveys the options neatly arranged before him and picks through them with careful fingers. He sets aside a small arrangement: two rings. A watch. One chunky, iced-out chain and a smaller crucifix to hang on his neck. He holds them reverently as he makes his way toward the bed and stands in front of Bambam.

“Well?” Bambam cocks his head. “What are you waiting for? Put them on.”

Jaebeom hesitates, then sets the jewelry down save for the diamond chain. He undoes the clasp and raises it to his throat before Bambam tuts in admonishment.

“It’s not for you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve stolen enough already, haven’t you?”

Jaebeom’s cheeks flush pink as his hands drop, toying nervously with the necklace. “I—sorry.”

“Good.” Bambam can see the hitch in Jaebeom’s breathing at the single word of praise. “Besides, if you do this properly, I have a reward for you.”

He watches the way Jaebeom’s eyes light up with the provocation—the way he’s being prodded into showing how good he can be—and how he licks his lips at the idea of a reward. It’s so easy, so lovely to play with him like this.

“What are you waiting for?”

Jaebeom lowers his eyes to the chain in his hands, deferent. Clasp undone, all he has to do is put it around Bambam’s neck but he takes his time latching, laying it flat across Bambam’s collarbones, thick, warm fingers at his throat. He traces his fingertips soft and wandering down into the V of his shirt.

He only darts his glance up to Bambam when he’s finished, seeking approval.

Bambam’s not quite ready to give it. “And the other?”

The movements of Jaebeom’s hands are even more precise this time, even more delicate as he takes the cross necklace and carefully settles it around Bambam’s neck. His touch is so light that Bambam can’t tell if they’re even touching or if it’s simply tension radiating from him that almost feels like heat.

“Thank you, darling.”

Jaebeom’s cheeks pinken. He starts, bare skin of his chest jumping when Bambam drags his fingertips down a smooth warm path. “Don’t forget the rest, baby.”

Jaebeom catches his forearm in an open palm, slides his grip down to his wrist, dips the tips of his fingers against the webbing between Bambam’s. Every touch is delicate, absent of any heaviness, any expectation, sweet and pliable and melting in Bambam’s mouth like caramel candy. Jaebeom—his brooding, broad, heavy handed hyung—turned into a tender, wanting thing.

He slides the watch around Bambam’s left wrist first, a circuit closing and sparking where their skin meets. His tongue pokes out of his mouth with concentration, but Bambam doesn’t move to help him. The clasp on this one is the tiniest bit snug, and Jaebeom pinches his finger when he clicks it into place, cursing under his breath and sucking at the small cut before it can well up. Bambam quietly stores away the image of Jaebeom’s pretty pink lips wet around his own flesh and saves it for later.

Next come the rings, pushed carefully up the lengths of his fingers like something sweeter or more innocent than what’s happening. Jaebeom’s head is bowed over Bambam’s hands now, and he doesn’t quite register what he’s doing until he feels the warm brush of skin against his, right where the ring sits snugly. “Oh?”

Jaebeom makes a sheepish, embarrassed sound, but his mouth is still pressed close to the mountain ridge of Bambam’s knuckles over thick, glittering gems.

“Good boy,” Bambam murmurs. There’s a gentle puff of air against his fingers as Jaebeom chokes out a gasp. “Just one more thing and then you get your reward, baby.”

Jaebeom nods eagerly, not even questioning the new task.

“Go to my closet,” Bambam instructs. “There should be two boxes on top of the shelf. Bring them here.”

Jaebeom nearly trips over himself in his haste to follow Bambam’s directive. When he returns, Bambam says, “Open the shoebox. You can set the other one on the bed.”

The care with which Jaebeom handles them is the same he’s used with Bambam’s belongings all night. There’s only the whispering sigh of the comforter beneath the weight of the flat, square box, and then the slide of the cardboard lid off the other. Jaebeom stares down at the contents for a moment before blinking up at Bambam.

“I bought these just for this,” Bambam tells him. “Since you liked them so much in the studio.”

Jaebeom swallows thickly as he lifts a pair of sleek black leather heeled boots from the box. They gleam in the light, clearly never worn.

Bambam almost prompts him, the words _What do you say?_ on his lips, when Jaebeom murmurs, “Thank you.” All on his own.

“Good boy,” Bambam croons again. He uncrosses his legs and sets his feet flat on the floor. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

Jaebeom nods, falling to his knees so hard that Bambam barely holds back a sympathetic wince. Jaebeom doesn’t seem to mind, though, preoccupied with smoothing a soft hand down the back of Bambam’s calf until he’s cupping his heel. He coaxes Bambam’s foot up and into the boot, the leather stiff and cool, but a perfect fit. The zipper glides closed almost silently, and Jaebeom’s fingers linger on the silver bauble for a beat too long before he switches to the other foot.

It’s almost meditative, the routine of it. As if Jaebeom is losing himself, losing everything but Bambam above him and his own worshipping hands. Bambam’s heart thrums a slow, steady drumbeat in his ears watching Jaebeom smooth the bottom hem of his trouser leg down over the top of the boot, entranced.

Jaebeom doesn’t stand when the task is complete. He sits back on his heels, looking up beseechingly at Bambam.

“Well?” Bambam arches his brow and circles his ankle. The zipper on this pair is similar to that of the pair he’d worn to the studio, chiming softly with the movement.

Jaebeom bites his lip and fidgets with his hands, clearly lost.

“Don’t these get a kiss, too?”

Jaebeom’s mouth drops open, a sweet little _o_ of shock, and Bambam wonders for a second if he’s gone too far. After all, Jaebeom had brought in the kissing with the rings on his own, they hadn’t talked about...this.

But then—then he lowers his head further, the movement jerky. His hands wrap reverently around Bambam’s ankle and the warmth seeps through the supple leather.

And then he presses his lips against the toe, a sweet little peck as if he’s kissing a cheek rather than the shoe of a man he’s kneeling before. And he does it again, more firmly, his blunt fingertips curling deeper into the leather until it creaks. He lifts his head just enough to kiss at the silver zipper, tugging it between his pretty lips and letting it drag against his skin.

He turns to the other boot and continues his ministrations, head lowered between Bambam’s legs like something obscene as his mouth continues its soft, chaste appreciation of the smooth leather and cool metal.

“You like that, don’t you?” Bambam murmurs.

Jaebeom looks up. Everything about him is prim and proper, not a hair out of place, but there’s something wrecked about him. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed a delicate pink, his lips mindlessly parted. “Thank you,” he says, “for the gift.”

“Oh, my god,” Bambam giggles. “Baby. You’re welcome. That wasn’t the gift, but you’re welcome.”

“But—” Jaebeom’s mouth slants in a confused little pink slash, almost pouting but not quite, tilting his head just the slightest bit. Troubled little kitten.

Bambam hums thoughtfully and taps his toe so the zipper on his boot jingles again. “If this was enough, maybe I should save the real gift for next time, hm?”

Jaebeom’s lips dip into a proper frown now.

“You liked this so much, didn’t you?” Bambam teases. “You’re so happy just to be on your knees and following orders, aren’t you?”

Jaebeom squirms in his place, but when Bambam lifts one foot and places it between his thighs, he freezes. His legs spread almost imperceptibly, making just enough room for Bambam to press even closer until the sole of his boot is flush against Jaebeom’s crotch.

“_Aren’t_ you?” Bambam repeats. He can feel Jaebeom’s cock jump beneath his shoe.

“Y-yes.” Jaebeom’s voice is thin now, breathy and sweet. “I’m so—” Bambam smirks when the slight pressure of his toe pressing down on the swell of Jaebeom’s cock makes him cut his own thought off with a sigh, the bare skin of his thighs twitching with feeling.

“You’re so what, baby?”

“I’m so—I—” Jaebeom flushes deeper, and sucks his lips between his teeth before pushing them out into a pout. “I...like it. So much.”

“I can see that.” Bambam slides his foot up, the tread of his boot dragging the fabric of Jaebeom’s briefs up against his cock. Jaebeom shudders, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Bambam lets out a derisive laugh. “Hard just from me stepping on you. Embarrassing.”

Jaebeom hangs his head, but not before Bambam gets the chance to see his cheeks go scarlet. “Our Jaebeommie hyungie, a bit of a freak. Should have known.” He rolls his ankle in little circles and watches Jaebeom wriggle into it and then away and back again, red flushing down his throat, filling his lips when he bites them, plump and slick and sweet like cherries.

“But….” Bambam pauses, lets him squirm. “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

Jaebeom’s face lights up and he nods.

“Sweet boy.” Bambam reaches for the box, watching Jaebeom watch him. “You’re ready for your gift, then?”

He swears Jaebeom almost wiggles with excitement. “Yes, please.”

Bambam slides the lid off slowly, drawing the moment out like pulling taffy, all sticky and sweet. From his vantage point on the floor, Jaebeom can only see the bottom of the box.

Bambam runs a finger along the edge of what lies inside. He cocks his head. “Close your eyes for me.”

Jaebeom does it in an instant, shuttering the translucent skin over his eyes. It’s such a marked difference from the way he would react outside of these walls, outside of these moments, that something warm stirs in Bambam’s gut. The playful mistrust, the rambunctious antics they get up to together—all of it has fallen away here where they lean into each other and this.

Bambam lets himself drink in the sight for a moment before pulling Jaebeom’s gift from the box. He undoes the buckle, reaches down, and lets the leather brush against the sensitive skin of Jaebeom’s neck. Jaebeom’s Adam’s apple bobs and Bambam grins.

Goosebumps trickle down the back of Jaebeom’s neck and disappear under his collar. The bold black line of his back shudders, shivering across his shoulders. Even with the looseness of the shirt emphasizing how broad he is, he feels delicate beneath Bambam’s touch as he wraps the strap of leather around Jaebeom’s throat, pulls it snug, and buckles it.

“There you go,” Bambam murmurs. He brings his hand around to the front of Jaebeom’s throat and trails his fingers across the cool, silver-plated letters there. “You can open, now.”

Jaebeom does so immediately, eyes blinking and hand rising to his throat to feel. He turns toward the full-length mirror that serves as the closet door to see his reflection. When he does, his mouth drops open and his fingers grip at the leather.

“It’s—thank you,” he says, sounding breathless.

“You’re welcome.” Bambam cocks his head and drinks in the sight. “I figured, since you kept stealing things with my name on them, that I may as well give you something of your own.”

Jaebeom nods, unable to look away from the sight of himself and the heavy black collar wrapped around his throat. His fingers toy with the silver letters—_Bambam,_ they read, leaving no doubt as to the purpose of it. Marking, owning, claiming.

“You like it.” It isn’t a question, and Jaebeom doesn’t take it as such.

He crawls closer on his knees and nuzzles into Bambam’s thighs, murmuring _thank you_ over and over again. Bambam cradles the nape of his neck, half in Jaebeom’s fine hair even as his last two fingers slide between the collar and Jaebeom’s skin.

With Jaebeom’s face where it is, Bambam can’t ignore it anymore, no matter how put-together he’s been acting—he’s hard, aching in his trousers and throbbing every time Jaebeom dips closer to his crotch.

“Such a grateful little thing.” Bambam tightens his fingers on the back of Jaebeom’s neck, tugging his hair lightly. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Jaebeom’s voice sounds even smaller when it’s muffled by Bambam’s thighs. “Yes, I am.”

Bambam tilts Jaebeom’s head back so he can see his face. “Do you really want to show me how grateful you are?”

Jaebeom nods enthusiastically. “Please—please, I wanna—”

Bambam holds out an expectant palm, and Jaebeom places his hand in it without question. Deliberately, teasing at the same time as he gives Jaebeom room to pull back, he guides Jaebeom’s hand up, up, up until it’s just below his belt buckle—and then he presses it down against his straining length.

Jaebeom’s fingers tremble against him. Bambam exhales slowly. “Do what you always do, then—take what you want, baby.”

That’s all it takes. Permission granted, Jaebeom’s fingers scrabble at Bambam’s buckle and fly, only opening them enough for his cock to spring forward.

From there, it’s like he’s starving for it: Bambam watches his hyung lean toward him, smacking his lips like he’s drooling already, nuzzling at the base of his dick like he wants to get as close as possible. He peels Bambam’s trousers down further, carefully, soft fingers dragging the fabric down around his hips.

Once he has access, Jaebeom starts lapping up Bambam’s length in tiny, teasing strokes, leaving a faint sheen of wetness on the flushed skin. When he reaches the head, he takes the tip between his soft pink lips.

His eyes flutter shut as he suckles at the head, as if in bliss. Sweet moans keep cutting off in the back of his throat and the pretty line of his cupid’s bow stretches as he takes in just a bit more, content with his mouthful.

More than content, actually.

“What’re you doing there, baby?” Bambam’s voice is gentle, but Jaebeom tenses guiltily. The hand that had snaked between his thighs to rub at himself freezes. “You’re getting off on sucking my cock?”

The noise Jaebeom makes is muffled, high, and broken—but his hand slowly starts moving again, heel of his palm grinding right up under the head of his cock, under the wet spot he’s made in his briefs.

“I don’t know what else I expected.” Bambam leans back on his hands on the bed, exposing the lean line of his body. Jaebeom stares up at him with wide eyes, mouth still beautifully full. He fucks up a little into the tight wet heat, the warmth in his gut completely secondary to the rush he feels when Jaebeom moans at the shallow thrust. “No matter how good you act, you’re still a slut, aren’t you, baby?”

He can see Jaebeom’s thighs squeeze tightly around his hand, and then his own eyes are closing as Jaebeom sinks further down onto his length with a desperate whine. The noise chokes off in the back of his throat as Bambam’s cock fills him, but it doesn’t dampen his enthusiasm. If anything, it spurs him on.

He’s squirming now, half rubbing frantically at himself, half humping his own hand, all the while trying to swallow more of Bambam into the sloppy, eager heat of his mouth.

Bambam takes in the sight through half-lidded eyes and reaches forward to cup Jaebeom’s face. He rubs a thumb along Jaebeom’s cheek—there’s a tear track there, wetness spilling from Jaebeom’s eyes, the same way his drool is slipping down his chin and precome wets his underwear. “You messy little thing.”

Jaebeom nods as best he can, tiny affirmative noises getting lost in the obscenely slick noises of him fucking his mouth onto Bambam’s cock.

“Look at you.” He slides his hand back and up, grips a thick handful of baby-soft hair just to watch Jaebeom’s body jolt at the pinpricks of pain. “You’re just a sloppy slut, aren’t you? So wrecked just from getting to suck dick.”

Jaebeom’s breath is coming in frantic little pants through his nose. Bambam wonders how hard he’d cry if he pulled out of his mouth right now, deprived him of what he clearly needs.

Instead, he uses his hold on Jaebeom’s hair to pull him down further, until fresh tears well up in his eyes and he gives a full-body shudder at the intrusion, talented throat flexing around him.

“Take it. You love this so much, just take it. Suck hyung off and maybe I’ll give you another present and come on your face.”

He isn’t sure what it is that sends Jaebeom over the edge—the honorific, the promise, everything at once.

What he does know is that Jaebeom is the prettiest thing when he comes.

His mouth goes slack around Bambam’s cock and his brow furrows, knit tight the same way he looks when he’s leaning into a high note, whimpers rising in the back of his throat. He curls forward as grinds his cock into his hand—and Bambam can see the wetness of his come spreading across the front of his briefs, making even more of a mess. The muscles of his thighs and abs clench as each wave hits him.

Bambam can’t help but revel in the fact that such a beautiful man is on his knees for him, choking himself on his cock, wearing a collar with his name on it. He’s covered in tears and spit and snot down his chin, sweat pooling in his collarbones and sticky come in his underwear and still he looks so—“Pretty,” Bambam sighs.

Jaebeom has to let Bambam slip from his mouth as he comes down, gasping for air. He turns his face into Bambam’s thigh instead, staying close and nuzzling and cuddling like a cat.

Bambam keeps his hand in his hair, but he’s stroking it gently now. He pushes Jaebeom’s fringe back off his face, a few trailing strands sticking to skin dewy with sweat. “Good boy,” he whispers, a little surprised at how dry his throat feels after watching Jaebeom come. “My sweet baby.”

A soft noise rises in Jaebeom’s throat and he blinks up at Bambam. His eyes are wide, unshed tears making them appear starrier than usual—or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at Bambam.

Bambam grins down at the dumbstruck, awed, soft look, the way Jaebeom’s bottom lip sags open, full and swollen before the corner quirks up in a hesitant, hopeful mirror.

“You’ve been so good,” Bambam murmurs. “Do you want to give hyung a bit more?”

There’s no question this time—the honorific makes Jaebeom swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing before his mouth falls open again. “Yes, hyung,” he rasps. He sounds properly fucked out. Bambam’s cock twitches at the sound, and that’s all the prompting Jaebeom needs.

He’s a good boy, after all.

Bambam sighs as Jaebeom takes him back into his mouth. The frantic pace of it is gone, replaced by easy warmth and comfort. There’s no desperate edge, no finish line to race toward, no facade that Bambam’s trying to crack open anymore.

It’s the simplest kind of pleasure, having Jaebeom suckling at him happily and blinking all slow and lazy like he’s never been more comfortable.

Bambam cradles his head like something precious, like a dragon with beloved treasures—close, adoring, reverent.

But at the end of the day, Jaebeom is more than precious, more than treasured, more than every carat and every stitch in Bambam’s wardrobe, in the world. Bambam tries to communicate this with each word of praise, each stroke of his fingers through his hair, each moment he has him like this.

Jaebeom leans into Bambam’s jeweler’s hands and looks like he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to mel on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sunnyseunie)!


End file.
